


Eclipse

by clevelandy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Bc Im new to the fandom, But .... I wanted to do it, Fluff, I’m doing the countdown late !!!, M/M, Mentions of penny & shep, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mostly just pining and snuggling, Plotless Fluff, Post-Wayward Son, Simon is the Sun, SnowBaz, Sun/Moon Prompt, and baz is the moon, angsty fluff??? is that possible, but I love being told what to write, heavy kissing, there isn't really a plot, this metaphor is so overdone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21999826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevelandy/pseuds/clevelandy
Summary: Simon falls asleep at Baz's place. There's still a lot of healing to be done.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 46
Kudos: 265





	Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I know I am VERY late but I wanted to write and the countdown prompts looked fun so I might steal a few (maybe just this one. Maybe more. Who knows) Anyway, I started thinking about writing a drabble about Simon spending the night at Baz's apartment (post-WS) and what it would feel like for them to experience a sunrise together. In an attempt to practice writing Baz's and Simon's (strong) personas, it kinda turned into this fluff monster in which Baz spend an entire night thinking about Simon's (and his own) recovery and how much he loves him. It also turned into this weird metaphor in which they become....... the sun and the moon (or does it). I hope you enjoy it!!!

**Baz**

It is 4:37 AM and Simon Snow is asleep in my arms. 

If it weren't 4:37 AM I don't think Simon Snow would be asleep in my arms. Asleep, perhaps. Being in my arms is the outlier. 

A soft voice in the back of my head insists that he wouldn't be asleep in my arms if he knew what he was doing. Or if he weren't so bloody tired. But those types of thoughts belong to a younger me. One who was less secure in our relationship. One who hadn't traveled the length of the United States to cure his relationship of a disease whose antidote lay in the sound of our voices.

I know now that this is just a step in the right direction instead of a state of being. He will awake and be frightened to find himself in my bed, but that will be okay. I have promised myself not to be offended when he moves away from our current position. Holding him like this is not grasping at straws anymore, so I don't need to be as desperate for affection. He may back away from me, but that means that the next time we find ourselves close he will hesitate a little less or I'll get to hold him for a little longer. It's a process that I'm happy to take part in because the results are worth it. 

We've been back from the United States for over a month now, and this type of work has already made a big improvement on us both. When I'm not studying I'm usually around his and Penny's- which feels considerably less like a morgue than it did before. One reason for that is that Simon has begun opening the blinds in the daytime to let the sun in (and to drive me mad). Sometimes I find him curled up on the floor, soaking up the sun like a cat. He's usually sleeping when I find him like that, which is also an improvement. He wasn't sleeping much before. And, when he wakes up from his naps he's usually incredibly soft with me. Sometimes it's brief, but I take what I can get. 

Glancing down at his sleeping face, lips pursed as air escapes him, I realize he's catching up on years of sleep. He didn't sleep well in America, he said, but I doubt that he ever has. Nightmares were not something he shared with me back at Watford, but when you share a room with someone for so long you know when they're about to wake up in a cold sweat. Simon could probably have bottled up vials of "chosen one" nightmare sweat and sell it at a potions shop. I probably would've helped him collect it. 

This is another thing which has changed since we've returned. Simon lets me help with things. Little things at first: for example, neither Bunce nor he could reach an oddly placed shelf above their front door, so Simon asked me to help him clean it. The previous tenants in their apartment had left a strange collection of nesting dolls there which, despite both arguing that they were haunted, neither Bunce nor Simon had thought to take down. He was standing directly in front of the door when I walked into their flat a few weeks ago, causing me to startle him.

"Bloody-, Baz. Don't you knock?" He had started, rocking down onto the balls of his feet and grabbing for the walls to steady him. He must have been standing on his tip-toes and leaning on the door. 

"No, Snow. I find that once I've been invited into a home, it's much more effective to just burst in at random, lest you take away my ability to come in." Confusing him with contradictory vampire rules is still one of my favorite things to do. 

He had squinted at me for a second, just as I expected him to, before smiling and shaking his head at me. This easy conversation was something I had missed so dearly. I leaned in and kissed his cheek in greeting and he smiled into it. I missed that too.

"What are you doing, Snow?" I asked, closing the door behind me and turning to look where he was.

"Well, Penny asked me to get rid of those stupid dolls," Every time I came over during this past month, Simon was doing something which Bunce had asked him to do when she left the flat. Mopping, cleaning up spiderwebs, organizing their bookcase- those sorts of things. At first, it seemed degrading. Bunce was not the boss of him, nor was he her househusband (if anything he should be mine). But when I prodded, Simon said that he had asked her to do it. It seemed that completing tasks was important to him. If he had a list of things to do he was less likely to sit on the couch all day, but the tasks seemed more important if they were benefiting someone else. It made a lot of sense, knowing him. "But I can't reach them and there's no space to get a chair here. It's stupid that I can't spell them down. And Penny could probably do that herself, but..." 

I was a little surprised at the candor. He rarely spoke about magic. But, given his tone of voice, he must have been trying to get them down for a while. 

"Do you think you can reach them?" He asked then, voice a little breathy. 

This wasn’t a big deal, but it felt like it was. Sure, he'd asked me to do things for him in the past year: hand him things, spell his wings. But this task, menial as it was, felt like we were working together on something. Like before.

"Maybe if the two of you weren't so short, we wouldn't be dealing with flickering lights and bewitched spiders,” I grumbled, reaching up and closing my fingers around one of the sets of dolls. It was strangely warm. I handed it to Simon.

”I’m not that much shorter than you! I just pushed it out of my reach and you have an advantage.”   
  
I stood on my toes to reach the other two, handing them to Simon. He immediately threw the sets into a trash bag.

”Being a vampire doesn’t make me tall, Snow. You’re just short.” I sneered, causing Simon to roll his eyes. I could’ve lived in that moment forever. “You should probably burn those.” 

“Yeah, Penny’s planning on doing some kind of spell on them to make sure the spirits don’t come back.” He said, looking up at the shelf.

”Alright,” I nodded, “Anything else you need help with?” 

He pursed his (very kissable, off-limits) lips, clearly thinking something. I, briefly, wondered if he didn’t want my help and if I should just fuck off. I pushed the thought aside.

”See, I was thinking we should dust and maybe put something up there, but all Penny asked me to do was take these down. So maybe that’s enough for one day.” He said, nodding decidedly to himself and turning around. I followed him up the few stairs and into the living room. “Would you like some tea? Can tell me about your day.”

The weeks between then and now feels like a long time. Happy as I was, even then we were reserved. Frankly, we still are. But now I get two short kisses (hello and goodbye) every day and a longer one if we’ve cuddled long enough and nobody’s around. Sometimes I can manage another if I say something he likes or give in to something he wants. Maybe it sounds depraved to count them, but it’s in the name of progress. One day we will kiss like the Humdrum is outside my door.   
  
Looking down at him now, it would be easy to sneak one. I won’t, of course. Nobody has spent more time _not_ kissing a sleeping Simon than me. But nobody has spent more time _thinking_ about kissing a sleeping Simon than me. I could be a professional if there were a market for that. 

My desire is within reason. The moonlight is shining through the window and illuminating his face. His lips are pursed, occasionally opening with his exhales. His head is resting against my chest, so his taffy lips are already somewhat against my body, though my t-shirt separates us. They look dry (mouth breather) but that wouldn’t bother me. I know that they’re warm and soft, and I know that when he’s just waking up he’s less involved in trying to make the kiss an experience. His sleepy kisses are a weighted blanket, potentially overwhelming if it weren’t so damn comforting.

I'm a hero for refraining. Moving to kiss him would probably mean waking him up, but just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t. Besides, as I said, he needs the sleep. Though, one day I’ll tell him about this act of heroism. Maybe I should keep track of all the kisses I didn’t get. That way I can make sure he repays his debts.   
  
I should focus on sleeping instead. I don’t have class in the morning, which is why I let Simon stay so late in the first place. But, I still had things to do the next day. I was planning on leaving in the morning and running some errands downtown. I was going to invite Simon. 

But given as how it’s so late, those plans seem less and less likely. I just want to close my eyes and sleep, but something is keeping me from doing so. I feel like my brain is preparing for a marathon. 

Simon, meanwhile, seemed to knock out as soon as his bed hit the pillow. I can’t say I’m not envious. He’s still able to ‘not think’ enough to fall asleep at night. I’ll forever be confused and jealous of that fact, even if it seems less realistic in our present days.  
  
Honestly, he’s probably the reason I can’t fall asleep. The fucker looks so comfortable and part of me is worried that if I fall asleep I’ll move and wake him. I’d transfigure myself into a pillow if it meant keeping him comfortable, but I probably wouldn’t know the spell for that. Though, maybe I’m less worried about keeping him comfortable and more worried about the moment when he moves away from me. A small part of me is worried that he’ll take my heart with him when he turns back around. So I want to cherish every moment of this.

Things are getting better, but that doesn’t mean they’re always good. Yes, my apprehension is silly, but it’s hard to let go of the idea that we’re standing on thin ice. I’m constantly afraid that I will do or say the wrong thing. I know, logically, that there is no right or wrong, but I just want to be there for him. And I want him to be here, present, with me. And I want him to know I'll be here even if he isn't present. It's all quite terrifying. 

Besides, he only ended up in my bed by accident. 

We had gone out to dinner with Bunce and Shephard. A change of scenery, she had insisted. An absolute train-wreck, I had countered. Bunce had had the great idea to get Thai to commemorate a month since we'd been in America (why she was keeping track of the dates, I wasn't sure. Though it could've been related to the length of her time spent with Shep), but what she didn't take into account was the reviews on the website of the place she intended to try. We had all left grumbling and with lighter pockets- even Simon couldn't finish his food. The place was closer to my apartment than theirs, so I offered to bring them back to mine and prepare something to make up for the meal- or at least provide enough alcohol to forget it. Nobody agreed but Simon (alone-time was a happy result I hadn't considered when offering) so the two of us made it back to my apartment.

After a compensatory cheese toastie and a glass of wine each, Simon and I retired to the living area to watch a movie that turned into four episodes of some crime reenactment show that Snow had become obsessed with. I didn't mind them, but mostly I was enjoying our position on the sofa. He told me he wanted to take advantage of his wings being spelled off, so we had ended up with his back to my chest. Our legs were tangled together and his head rested on my bicep. His tail, which he insisted had a mind of its own, was curled loosely around my leg. Occasionally the tip of it would run against the inseam of my pants, making chills run through my body. It never strayed above my knee, further refuting his argument that it was autonomous. 

Cuddling like this was a relatively new feat for us, so I expected Simon to be fidgety. Surprisingly though, besides checking his phone occasionally, his overall attention was steady on the program. I didn't think much about what he was checking his phone for, but I hummed in slight dissent whenever he moved his arm to grab it, pulling me from my relaxed haze in the process. The light was also a little bothersome, directed right at our faces and fighting with the dull ambiance in the room. 

I glanced over his head when he pulled it out the fourth time- more out of curiosity than anything else- only to find that he didn't have any apps open. He must have been just checking the time. Which, maybe I should've paid more attention to.

"Crowley, Snow, is it really that late?" I asked, resting a palm against his side when he jumped at the sound of my voice. "Why didn't you tell me? I should've taken you home hours ago."

He shrugged instead of answering, turning his head back to look at me. I suppose a shrug was an answer.

"Come on," I had murmured, starting to pull my arm out from under him. He unwrapped his tail from my leg and sat up on the couch, leaving space for me to sit next to him. I stretched out my arms and legs, waiting for my joints to pop before relaxing again. "Let's get you home so you can get some rest."

"Well, it's late." He responded, stopping me from standing up. I looked at his face, chin jutted forward as if he were... as if he were upset with me?

"I'm sorry, Simon. I really wasn't keeping track of time. I guess I must have dozed off for a little while. Though, you could've just told me if you wanted me to take you home." 

His eyes softened immediately but I noted the way his Adam's apple bobbled. His hand lifted to tug at one of his tendrils. "No! No, I didn't mean it like that... I just mean... it's late for you to be driving."

"There are no laws prohibiting late-night driving, Snow," I retorted, expecting to draw some sort of laughter from him. It didn't, instead causing his expression to drop more. He rose to his feet, hand still tangling in his hair. He wasn't facing me anymore, looking for his shoes, but his shoulders were lowered. I frowned, opening my mouth then closing it again. I wasn't sure what he wanted. Despite his arguments, vampires can't read minds. Unless...

"Would you like to spend the night?" I had asked, voice soft from my place on the couch. He turned around immediately, shoulders lifting in a shrug. 

"I can sleep on the couch," He responded immediately.

"No, I can sleep on the couch. You'll be sore."

He paused, jutting out his chin again. He's going to be stuck like that one day. "I won't put you out of your own bed because we forgot to check the time." Then what had he been doing on his phone?

I sat back a little bit, folding my hands on my knee. I tilted my chin up, angling my head so it almost looked like I was looking down on him, despite being lower.

"I'll stay on the couch. I want you to be comfortable." 

"I want you to stop treating me like I'm going to break, Baz," He said, crossing his arms over his chest. I thought my tactic would've worked, but he maintained eye contact. This was impossible. I took a deep breath, blinking slowly to recollect myself lest I said something I didn't mean to. He was getting frustrated fast, meaning that I was too. 

Standing slowly, I looked down at his face. "What do you want me to do here, Snow?" My voice was low, calm, though maybe more threatening than I intended it to be. In all honesty, nobody was less intimidated by me than Simon Snow- this is good in times like these. 

He was quiet for a beat, no analyzation on his face. He spoke plainly. "We can just sleep together." 

And so we did. I gave him a pair of my pajama pants and changed into my own sleep-wear. He left his t-shirt on and laid on the bed as if it were going to collapse underneath him. We were on our backs, shoulders touching. It wasn't until I heard his breath slow that he turned on his side. Later that he curled around me, one arm and one leg traveling around my body. 

An hour later and the near-argument had almost left my mind. Instead of frustration at his stubbornness, all I can focus on is the way my boy looks pressed up against my body, and how I don't want him to take himself away from me. It's amazing how a mind in love can reject so many other feelings. All but adoration and fear remain when it comes to Simon. 

I gaze slowly over his features, double-checking that he's still asleep. Part of this really does feel like I'm back at Watford. I will never complain about the state of recent events, especially given all that he's been through and the significant improvement we've made, but he still feels like he's just out of reach. Before because of our statuses, then because of the trauma and right now because he's fucking asleep and all I want to do is kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until he absolutely suffocates. Is that how this will always feel? Will I never be satisfied with how much Simon Snow I am given? Will he ever feel at peace enough to let me in? Will I ever get to fuck Simon Snow?

“Are you watching me sleep?” 

I feel my stomach drop. He’s never caught me before. His voice is hushed, syrupy with sleep, but his eyes are closed. I wonder for a moment if I imagined him speak. It’s confirmed when they open, piercing and focused in the dim light. He's looking at me. Surely my throat is closing.  
  
“No,” I start. My voice is rough with underuse. I clear my throat. “How did you know?”  
  
He hums and begins to move. I expect to be plunged into cold without his furnace-grade skin, but instead of moving off me he moves closer. He digs his chin into my chest to grapple, moving himself up further on my abdomen. He cups my opposite shoulder. I can't see his face much anymore, which is a shame, but he's almost entirely on top of me now. I wonder if I'm having a fever dream. 

“Felt it for a little bit..." He starts. I'm listening, I swear, but he's also rubbing his cheek against my chest. I wish I had taken off my shirt so I could feel the warmth against my skin. "Was going to let you get away with it, but then you started holding your breath. Didn't want you to suffocate."

"I was trying to be a more suitable pillow," I mumbled. I hoped he didn't look up, because he might see my face flush if it weren't so dark. I didn't know I was holding my breath. I didn’t know Simon could tell when I was staring at him- how many nights have I laid awake while he slept across from me? Too many to count. 

"'s that why you're still awake?" He asked, still not looking up at me. His hair tickled my chin. "I can sleep in the living room if you need space."

"No,” I grumble, realizing the error in my statement. He doesn't like it when I make too many accommodations for him, but it’s hard to remember that in practice. I'd give him Saturn's rings if they would fit on his fingers. "I'm just... excited you're here."

"Excited?" Crowley, he's going to milk this. 

"Yes, Snow. Some of us enjoy sleeping with attractive men." I notice now that we've been whispering. Like we're afraid someone will catch us like this. I kind of like the thrill of it. Nobody can hear him but me.

"Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it?" He mumbles, finally turning his head to face me. His chin is resting against my chest, one leg slung over my hip. More than half his body is on top of mine and I feel my breath falter for a second and I just hope he didn’t feel it. It’s just- He's so deliciously warm, and his body is a mere adjustment from totally covering mine. If I didn't know better I'd pull him completely on top of me. I'd slide my hands under his shirt and warm them on his back. He would kiss me and I'd let him lead; I'd let him pour molten lava down my throat. I'd let him eclipse me. Crowley, how I want to eclipse him. 

I don't move, keeping my hands wrapped easily around him. I give him space to move in or out, lest I extinguish his flames. I remind myself that his reluctance towards intimacy is due to his own self-worth, not because he doesn’t want it. Not because he doesn’t want me.   
  
I’m so afraid he will leave.

"You make a good pillow, Baz." He says after only a moment. He's looking at me now, and he has to lift his head slightly to speak. I wonder how much of my face he can actually see. I wonder if he can see me looking back at him. "You're like... when the pillow is cool... Instead of flipping you over I just put my head on a different place. You're pre-cooled."

"That's good to hear. You, meanwhile, feel like lava. I feel like I'm being slowly dragged to hell." I could have said absolutely anything else. "It's nice," I add. 

He smiles, and, strangely enough, that is what prompts him to make the final move towards draping himself over my body. If nothing else, Simon Snow is consistent in wanting to kill me. 

I'm trying not to dwell on the specifics too much as he crosses his arms under his chin so he can rest on my chest. His legs are straddled around my waist and his hips are, naturally, jarred into my lower abdomen. I will not dwell on each individual part of his body. My legs are cold, as are my shoulders. And Simon is just looking at me. He is roasting my body while I cool his. 

I wonder if the room is full of steam.

_**Simon** _

"Are you comfortable?" I ask, my voice still hushed. I'm not sure why we started whispering, but I won't be the one to change that. 

Baz nods, wrapping his arms more tightly around my waist. He's looking at me, his eyes hooded over. I can see that he's tired, but I can also see how hungry he looks. Not like he needs to feed, but like he's hungry for something else. Maybe I'm only imagining it- there's not much light coming into my room, but I can see the shine of his eyes. I can see that they haven't moved off of me in a long while. It's like he... wants more of me. 

I want to give him more. I want to give him everything. 

"I'm not crushing you, am I?" I ask, but my lips barely move. He seems to understand. His arms tighten around me and he shakes his head. I take this as 'don't you dare move.' I don't. His chin is tucked against his own chest to level our eye contact. His neck must be hurting, but he isn't complaining. 

Laying on top of him feels like laying on the surface of the moon, I imagine. If the moon were smooth and soft in all the right places. I never realized how nice it felt to be cool until I started dating Baz. I never realized how burning hot I was all the time. I wish we were wearing fewer clothes. I want to feel his skin against mine. 

He just keeps looking at me, and I keep looking back. I don't think I could look anywhere else. It occurs to me that I’m always looking for Baz, even when he’s not in the room. Maybe I've been looking for him since the day I was born.

I know he can see how red my face is getting and I know he can feel my blood pumping faster. He can probably hear my heart, and I'm the one against his chest. I have to keep looking at him.

Something about this standstill makes me feel like there is electricity in my veins. I don't know what to do with this energy. I want to feel his skin against mine. I’m so goddamn hot. 

I move my arms away from his chest, pushing my hands into the bed on either side of his head. I lift myself up off his body because I'm probably going to light a fire on him. Before he has a chance to complain I lean in and press my lips against his.

_**Baz** _

I feel the cool air rush in the moment his body leaves mine. Then he sets me on fire from the inside.

I am going to die kissing Simon Snow. 

I raise my arms without thinking, pushing my fingers through his hair. It has grown significantly since his last haircut. He has an appointment on Friday to get it done. I curl my fingers into it and scratch my nails against his scalp. He has his head tilted, so I tug on his hair to tilt him the other way- just because I can. He doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t stop me, but the sound that this draws from him encourages me. I’m going to cancel his appointment. 

The kiss is desperate and sloppy. We’re amateurs together, panting into each other’s mouths between long stretches of sliding lips and nipping teeth and intrigued tongues. I’m pulling down on his hair while he grabs my shirt, collapsing onto me while simultaneously trying to pull me upwards to him. One of his hands makes its way to the back of my neck while the other slides under my shirt- which I only notice because it feels like hot wax has spilled my skin when he finally does it. He wastes no time, pulling it up until it pools under my armpits- effectively uncovering my stomach.

I don’t want to be away from his mouth long enough for him to pull it off, so I fight off his attempts to pull away. I’m worried that the second he stops kissing me I’ll cease from existence, so I crane my neck upwards to follow him back. Finally, he places two hands against my chest, pushing me down against the bed hard enough to make me bounce a little.

He doesn’t taunt me or suggest I’m greedy (though I am), he just pulls at my shirt, angling it upwards until I get the hint and raise my arms. Simon throws it across the room and I get a good look at his face which is slowly being illuminated by the sliver of sun on the horizon: he looks determined, eyebrows furrowed slightly and lips wet. His chest is rising and falling heavily with the intensity of his breath and its as if he’s returned from some sort of battle. I want to make him feel like this all the time.

When he leans down to reconnect our lips I press a hand against his sternum, nipping at his lower lip before pushing him back. He looks just as confused as I probably did, desperate even, so I don’t keep him waiting. His shirt is off in a moment, joining mine in the corner. Then we’re reconnected in battle. 

This time around we move slower- like hot maple syrup instead of cannons. His bare chest is against mine and I wonder if he can actually burn me. I’ll gladly take the branding. We’ve switched hand positions, me at his neck while he tugs at my scalp. I realize that his knees are bent on the bed, meaning his ass is in the air. I grab it with both hands and pull him down onto me as if he were going anyplace else. This is dangerous and absolutely too bold, but his breath shudders in my mouth and he rocks down against my body, so I keep my hands where they are. 

Minutes or maybe hours pass before Simon and I part again, and this time it’s my fault. He leans back from me, eyes glassy and cheeks so beautifully red, and I realize that I’m not looking at him in the dark anymore.

The sun has risen behind his back, but it was early enough for it to shine around him as if he had a full-body halo. The light is enveloping him, though he protects me from the worst of its glare. I have to squint, but I can make out the shining of sweat on his chest and the tendrils of mussed hair hanging from his ducked head. He's smiling down at me and his hands are pressed gently against my chest. I wonder if he himself is the sun, and the object outside is another hole in the universe.

He leans down once more and presses his lips against mine, this time a ghost of the kiss we just had. But it’s gentle and sweet and Simon cups my cheek in the palm of his hand. I don’t feel burnt or overheated anymore, just pleasantly warm. Simon pulls away from my mouth, kissing the corner of my lips before trailing down my cheek. He kisses until he reaches my ear, which he whispers into.

”I think it’s morning.”

”That’s a great observation, Snow.” I whisper back, tilting my head back into the pillow and closing my eyes. It really is bright.

”I have to admit something, Baz,” he says, and I feel him lift himself off of me. Had this happened before its possible I would’ve cried, but at the present moment, I feel calm. I realize that Simon got up to close the blinds when the light behind my eyelids disappears. I open one eye to watch him tuck himself into my opposite side. He hasn't touched this part of me yet tonight, meaning it's a relief when he does. He rests his head on my shoulder and curls his arm around my waist. "I knew what time it was. I just didn't want to leave."

"How dare you," I murmur, placing a palm against the curve of his lower back. He presses closer to me in apology.

We sleep late into the afternoon. Simon does not leave me. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!!!!


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